


first steps

by pinesboi



Category: Lo chiamavano Jeeg Robot | They Call Me Jeeg (2015), Wolf (2013)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, What's new?, fabio is afraid of commitment, gay idiots, rating for language and sexual themes, roberta is the only one with brain cells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:28:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28344672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinesboi/pseuds/pinesboi
Summary: It’s only after he’s said it that he realizes that he truly does mean it. He wants Fabio out of that fucking dog kennel and in his bed. Their bed. He’d never been the domestic type, spouse and kids and a house with a picket fence was more like his own version of hell. But he does want Fabio, in any and all forms he can get him. His insane, smart boyfriend and his insane, smart sister (and sisters in law) are his family.In a way, Majid supposes he does want the domestic life, just a little. Only if it comes with Fabio’s glinting teeth and snorting laughter____________________________majid buys a house, and he wants fabio in it.
Relationships: Fabio Cannizzaro | Lo Zingaro/Majid Zamari
Comments: 11
Kudos: 41
Collections: Secret Santa Fics





	first steps

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thewolvesrunwild](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewolvesrunwild/gifts).



It’s not much, Majid will be the first to admit that. It’s tiny and squat and just as shitty and broken down as every other house on the block, but he can’t even bring himself to care. The sagging roof doesn’t matter, the weed-filled front lawn of about five square feet doesn’t matter, the shattered windows don’t matter. Because it’s _his._ There had been times in his life when he couldn’t have afforded a studio rent, much less a whole house that he doesn’t have to share with anyone else. A house that he _owned,_ no loans or payments to the bank.

Here, there was nobody to tell him what to do with his space or to tear it out from beneath him. No one could make him feel like he didn’t have a place.

Majid could understand in a vague way why his father might have felt so powerful in that little flat of theirs. It was a bit like being a king. Sure, the kingdom had cockroaches and maybe two or three types of mold, but it was a kingdom nonetheless.

The minute the deal had closed, Majid had called Fabio up. There was really only one way to break the new place in.

All it takes is Majid stepping over the threshold and Fabio is slamming the door shut again behind them, crashing their lips together. Fabio’s always been a touch too rough to be particularly good at it, but the occasion makes the kiss nearly perfect. His hands are everywhere, scorching lines up Majid’s chest and clawing their way under his shirt. There’s something like a growl lingering in the back of his throat, along with the intense urge to mark Fabio up as much as he can, wants Fabio to mark him up. Wants the house to know who it belongs to.

Fabio seems to have a similar idea and breaks from his biting kiss to attack Majid’s neck. He zeroes in on the spot just beneath his jaw, scratchy with stubble. It’s a weak point, and Fabio’s well aware of that fact. He’s more than prepared when the action causes Majid to lean forward into him, breath coming in unsteady streams.

“ _Fuck,_ Fabio-“ Majid groans, toes curling in his shoes when he can feel teeth lock around his pulse point. “You’re- _God fucking damnit-“_

“Saying something, babe?” His tone is as sardonic as anything, and if it were anyone else Majid wouldn’t think twice about laying them out on the concrete. But it’s Fabio, and for some reason it draws a whine up out of his chest and sends all the blood rushing south.

Majid knots a hand in Fabio’s hair, fingers curling around the long strands. He leans back to watch Fabio’s face, enjoying his kiss-reddened lips and the matching flush that’s creeping up from his chest. His eyes are half lidded already, and his mouth curls itself into a snarl as he reaches out and tugs at him. Majid goes willingly, connecting their lips with a satisfied grunt.

Kissing Fabio shouldn’t feel like coming home, and somehow it does. Majid wants that feeling forever. He’d sear it into his bones if he could, or into the beams of his shitty old house so that he’d never be without it.

“Fabio…”

He doesn’t get the chance to finish. “Clothes _off_.” Fabio hisses out, fingers fumbling as they work together to lift Majid’s hoodie up over his head. “I’m going to fuck you on every surface in this house. Then you’re going to fuck _me_.”

Majid chuckles and spares a glance away from Fabio and the decidedly quite empty house, devoid of any furniture and populated only by the scarce few bags he had. There were the kitchen and bathroom counters, and that was just about it.

Fabio seems to notice his reasoning and bites at his collarbone in retaliation. “The floor is a surface. Now help me with these.”

He is attempting to shimmy out of his skinny jeans, the pair that Roberta keeps telling him are going to cut off his circulation. Majid can’t help but chuckle as he nearly trips over himself and has to shoot an arm out to balance on Majid’s shoulder. Fabio gives him a wicked, dangerous look that says he’ll be paying for that later. Strangely enough, Majid wouldn’t have it any other way.

Kneeling, Majid finally takes pity on him and yanks his jeans halfway down his thighs and is presented with the gorgeous sight of Fabio hard in his briefs. He looks up, sees Fabio toss his shirt in a random direction. “You know, since you’re going to be leaving your clothes all over the place anyway,” he starts nonchalantly, “You could just move in. At least you’d have a closet to throw that shit into.”

Fabio freezes in place, mouth going into a hard line. His fingers are paused, curled around the waistband of his briefs. His eyes look down at him and show nothing other than the grey steel of his irises. “Don’t fuck around with that. Just- shut up and let’s get to christening this place.”

“Hey,” Majid says, voice going uncharacteristically soft. He rises back onto his feet, meeting Fabio at his level. “I’m being serious.”

It’s only after he’s said it that he realizes that he truly does mean it. He wants Fabio out of that fucking dog kennel and in his bed. _Their_ bed. He’d never been the domestic type, spouse and kids and a house with a picket fence was more like his own version of hell. But he does want Fabio, in any and all forms he can get him. His insane, smart boyfriend and his insane, smart sister (and sisters in law) are his family.

In a way, Majid supposes he does want the domestic life, just a little. Only if it comes with Fabio’s glinting teeth and snorting laughter.

“Why the fuck would I do that?”

Fabio’s tone catches him off guard and sends him reeling back a bit, collecting himself from his thoughts. “Look, it’s not a penthouse. But it’s mine. And I want _you_ in it too, Fabi.” He sighs. “Whatever this is, I want to be in it for the long haul.”

There’s a brief silence, and with every moment that passes Majid can feel a pit in his stomach opening up. Fabio’s face is terrifyingly blank, simply staring at him with cold eyes until he finally swallows and backs away.

“That’s sweet, Majid. Real fucking sweet.” Fabio pulls his jeans back up and snatches his shirt from the floor. “But you’ll have to find someone else to play house with. I’m not it.”

“What the fuck are you on about?”

He speaks between fastening the buttons on his shirt. “I’m not going to be your live-in boyfriend. Find some twink who cares.” He straightens out his collar. “We were having _fun._ I like fucking around with you. But I’m not- I’m not _this._ ” Fabio gestures around the house wildly.

Majid feels like he’s got whiplash. He stares at Fabio wide-eyed. “I didn’t ask you to _be_ anything. I just thought-“

“Yeah, well. You thought fucking wrong, didn’t you?” Fabio spits out. He zips up his fly and makes for the door.

“Fabi-“

He waves blindly over his shoulder, a cruel tilt to his words. “Don’t call until you’ve got this shit out of your head.” He pauses, once, with the door open. “Congrats on the house.”

And then he’s gone, the sound of the door slamming shut behind him, and his car speeding of a minute after. Majid’s left staring at the door in his wake and wondering what the _fuck_ just happened.

They’d been together nearly a year now. There was something there, he was sure of it. How many times had Fabio risked himself to get Majid out of trouble? How many times had Majid done the exact same? Neither one of them did that shit lightly.

He can feel a familiar bubble of frustration well up inside him, the nostalgic bubble that used to land holes in his drywall or some poor idiot’s face. Majid can’t tell if it’s the rejection that hurts more, or the way Fabio had left. He hadn’t even looked back. He could’ve handled Fabio’s blank gaze, or a punch being thrown his way, or some other version of Fabio’s feral method of expressing himself. What Majid couldn’t handle was being ignored.

He’s reluctant to create more work for himself by damaging the walls and there is a distinct lack of anyone else in the vicinity, Majid does the next best thing. He rifles through the pockets of his discarded hoodie and pulls out a burner phone, dialing the number for his contact at the gym.

Majid’s boxing gear is in one of these bags.

***********************************************************

Fabio is _working._ He is sitting at his desk staring at his computer, trying to look at the three different maps Ricca had found of the place they were supposed to be casing and come up with a plan that won’t get them shot or arrested. He is working. He is working. He is working, and he will convince himself of that if it’s the last thing he does. Fabio is considering smashing his head against the keyboard until his brain works by osmosis, or something like that, when he hears a knock at the entryway.

Roberta is standing with her arms crossed, wearing that usual look that means that he’s about to either get his shit rocked or mothered to the point of insanity. Based on the way her mouth is ticked in an almost-frown, Fabio’s leaning for the former but not ruling out a terrifying combination of the two.

“Fabi.”

_Shit._

He smiles and looks up from his laptop. “Robi! What can I do for my loveliest sister?”

She takes a slight step in and shuts the door behind her. Fabio gulps.

“I’m your only sister.” She takes the seat across from him, crossing her legs. “And I think we need to have a conversation.”

Fabio scowls and attempts to focus back on his laptop. His eyes are blurred, and he can already sense what this conversation is about. It’s one he’d been hoping to avoid for the last week, but he never was very good at compartmentalizing, or schooling his emotions. And he’d never been able to hide from Roberta, no matter how hard he might’ve tried (and he’d certainly attempted).

“Well, I’m working. Can it wait?” Fabio regrets the bile in his voice the minute the words leave his mouth, and he winces slightly.

Roberta extends a well-manicured finger and closes the lid of the laptop. “ _Fabio.”_

He sighs and gives her a look that he hopes accurately portrays how little he wants to have this conversation. “Don’t. Please.”

“A little too late for that one.” She leans back in her seat, her gaze softening. “What happened?”

There’s a spot on the wall behind her that suddenly seems interesting. There’s a crack running up to the ceiling. Damn old building will probably crumble to dust before long. If only he’d had the chance to stay anywhere else-

“Nothing happened.” Fabio snaps. “I am fine.”

She laughs, but he knows it’s the laugh she gives when she’s aware he’s full of shit. He’s quite used to hearing it. “Yeah, sure. So the moping around and the not sleeping- don’t give me that look, I can tell when you haven’t, Fabi- that’s just nothing? No. You look like shit, and I’ve got a strong suspicion it has a lot to do why no one has seen or heard from Majid in a week. You’d normally be out of your mind with worry. So, out with it.”

He takes a long, hard look at her. He already knows she won’t let up, but he’s secretly hoping she’ll give him an out. When it doesn’t come, he sighs and leans forward, glancing down at his lap. “It was just… a fight. Or something. Not even a fight really, just a disagreement.”

“ _Si_ _,_ a disagreement that ended in you two not speaking for a week.”

“Yes, well, I am getting to that.” He pauses. Roberta makes a motion to continue. “Well he, uh. He was showing me that new place now that the sale got finalized. We were- He was going to give me a house tour.” Fabio’s eyes flick up to meet hers. “He asked me to move in with him.”

He says it like he’s confessing to a crime, some terrible and nigh unspeakable act. It feels like it is. What fucking right did Majid have springing that on him? Ruining the only thing in his life that wasn’t complicated, that just felt good and safe. Moving in was a thing for straight couples and Hallmark gays. Not two-bit gangsters and boxers with impulse issues.

“Oh, Fabio,” Robi smiles at him sadly. He _hates_ it. “Is that it?”

“What do you mean, ‘is that it’?” Fabio says incredulously. “Yes, that’s it. It’s a big fucking thing to just fucking mention while you’re about to blow a guy.”

She nods in acquiescence, putting up a hand. “Alright. I can see how that might have been a bit of a shock.” She leans into him, putting a hand in the desk. “But I’m also not seeing why you’re not currently fucking your boyfriend’s brains out in your new house.”

He’s startled out of the generally mopey air he’d put on. “ _What?”_

With a little nod like she’s agreeing to something she’s said in her head, Robi grabs his hand from across the desk, a move they haven’t done since they were kids. It stills his heartbeat, reminds him of nights spent in the dark, sharing the same bed and whispering stories over the sound of their father and his friends in the front room.

“Fabio, I am going to be honest with you right now. I say this with all the love in my heart. You’re an idiot.” His mouth slackens a bit, and she pats his hand consolingly. “I know how you get. You throw up walls when people get close because anything more is too real. You _like_ Majid. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look at anyone like that, and I know how rare it is for you.” She grips his hand tighter. “I almost made the exact same mistake. Look, we… we aren’t used to having something good. You can’t let the few things we get to have slip away.”

He laughs, though it’s wet and cloyed with something in the back of his throat. “When did you become an expert in relationships?”

“I’m not. I’m your sister. And I happen to know what my brother’s pining face looks like.” Roberta pats his hand and smiles, leaning back and pulling away. “I definitely saw it enough when you first brought him on.”

Fabio groans and scrubs over his face, attempting to wipe away the wound-up energy he can feel humming under his skin. “ _Fuck,_ Robi. What did I do?”

“Nothing that can’t be undone.”

“What makes you so sure?” He says, wishing he were strong enough to admit he wants to cry. “Cause from where I’m sitting, it looks like I’ve fucked things up pretty bad.”

She grins. It’s a special one, the one they save for each other. “Because I know what _his_ pining face looks like.” Roberta releases his hand and stands, pushing the chair in neatly. “And I don’t know if you noticed, but he only ever smiles when he’s around you.”

With that, she bids him a quick goodbye, blowing a kiss over and leaving him to stew in his thoughts.

_Fuck._

He needs to call Majid.

************************************************

Fabio has called him approximately ten times. He hates texting, but he also gets somewhere around twenty texts. Majid turns his phone off after that. He’d thought about picking up, many times. Unfortunately, something (many things) in Majid’s life had taught him to hold a grudge. Once he’s got himself worked up in the week he spends pacing around his home and prepping for the fight his contact at the gym had set up, it’s hard to wind back down. First, he’s either going to beat some poor idiot to shit or get beat to shit himself. Then he can handle whatever the hell Fabio wants him for.

 _Probably some job,_ Majid thinks bitterly as he sits in the locker room, wrapping up his wrists.

No, _no._ He can’t be thinking about Fabio right now. Right now, he needs to be clearing his head. The opponent he’s got lined up isn’t just some guy off the street who thinks he can make some money by fighting- he’s built and broad and a bit terrifying if Majid’s being honest. He caught glimpses of the guy while he was training at the gym, whaling on a very pathetic looking trainer.

Majid doesn’t get scared at fights, or nervous. He gets _calm._ But something about this guy has him sitting on edge. Either that, or it’s the image of Fabio’s back disappearing behind a door.

He snatches his water bottle up off the bench and his gloves with it, stalking back out to the pre-fight area. Majid breathes deeply and attempts to get Fabio out of his fucking head so that he can survive this fight long enough to continue being angry.

That works for all of thirty seconds after he walks into the ring.

The place is packed more than it usually is- a thick crowd on the floor in the standing space, shouting and placing bets. There are some seats up top too, reserved for fancy donors or drug lords with a stake in the fight. And, of course, because somehow in the short time they’ve been together he’s acquired a homing beacon for Fabio, he spots him up in the seats. Fabio is evaluating the floor in that way he does- looking for exits, keeping a neutral exterior haunted by just a shadow of a grin. Robi is with him, though it’s just the two of them.

His presence was not helpful in clearing his head. In fact, it was doing the exact fucking opposite.

Just like him, really. To creep into Majid’s head and refuse to get out, showing up at the moment he needs him there the least. He tears his eyes away from Fabio and ducks under the ropes of the ring, licking over his mouthguard and slamming his gloves together in anticipation.

The guy across from him is taller, though maybe a bit lither than Majid is. He doesn’t let that fact draw his guard down. Majid had looked at his statistics. The guy was fucking brutal in a fight. In his eyes, Majid can see the calm clarity he’s wishing he had, not this stupid frustration that exhausts him just from thinking about it. It reminds him too much of the fights he used to have when he was just a kid, throwing punches out of wild rage rather than any strategy. Those usually ended up with him flat on his ass and a new chipped tooth.

The referee steps into the ring, saying something that Majid can’t make out and can’t be bothered to focus on. His hearing goes fuzzy around the edges, the excitement of the crowd building a hazy wall between him and Fabio.

He doesn’t have time for this. Majid takes a few more deep breaths before ducking his head behind his hands, building up his defenses and levelling out his weight on the balls of his feet. The referee’s whistle blows, and he lets his vision tunnel on his opponent.

It doesn’t take long for the fight to get bloody. Majid manages to land a few good blows right off the bat, backing the other guy up into the ropes and letting his gloves connect with a jaw and a stomach. He can enjoy that for all of ten seconds before the he’s on the retreat, blocking and evading punches left and right that come too quickly to track. Just when he thinks he’s got enough of a rhythm going to spend some mental power looking for an opening, he feels a leg come up and connect with his ribs. The impact aches distantly, the adrenaline of the fight blocking most of the pain, but he’s still winded. In his moment of surprise, another blow comes up and connects with the side of Majid’s head. His attacker then takes the opportunity to come at him from all sides- one blow hits the edge of his mouth and he can taste blood from it being ripped open. There’s another kick to his leg that brings him down onto his back, a free and open target for another assault on his ribs.

He’s rattled. He’s fucking pissed. And it doesn’t take higher functioning for him to realize that he’s going to lose this fight. Majid spares a glimpse up at Fabio. His small consolation is the look on Fabio’s face, wide and horrified. Somewhere in the back of his head, Majid recalls that he has yet to loose a fight in front of him.

_Serves you right, asshole._

He’s not sure if he’s talking about himself or Fabio. Maybe both of them.

Another blow lands on his temple, and everything goes black.

When Majid wakes, he’s flat on his back, in a room that is much quieter than the ring. The ceiling is lower too- he’s looking at it when his eyes open. He can very vaguely remember being lifted by the medics and taken out, amidst a loud roaring of the crowd. His head lolls and his everything aches. All it takes is shifting slightly to realize he’s been dumped unceremoniously onto the bench in the locker room. None of the medics remain, but he can hear quiet and emphatic voices echoing off of the linoleum.

*************************************************

“-to have him killed.”

“It was a fair fight. Majid knew what he was getting into.”

“I don’t give a shit! I’ll strangle that fucking behemoth myself. If he gets a coma from this-“

“The medics said he would be fine. His eyes are open and reacting, even if he’s a little delirious.”

There’s a pause, a sharp intake of breath. Majid can hear the toe of a Chelsea boot tapping against the tile impatiently. Fabio had never been able to sit still, especially if he was nervous. It would be cute, if Majid hadn’t remembered at that exact moment why he didn’t want to talk to Fabio in the first place.

He groans and leans his head back on the bench, wincing when the impact makes his head ring. “What is it with you two and not having a fucking quiet setting?”

The clicking of an approaching heel and Chelsea boot rings in his ears, and before long both Roberta and Fabio are in his field of vision. Robi has a look that’s equal parts concern, equal parts annoyance- though he’s certain that part isn’t aimed at him. Fabio, on the other hand…

Well. Fabio looks like shit. It’s only been a week since they’ve last seen each other, but it somehow feels like much longer. His hair has clearly gone unwashed, falling in grease-slick strands around his head. The dark circles under his eyes seem deeper, closer to bruises that Majid has a feeling he’ll be matching in a day or two. But most of all, he just looks fucking tired. Like all that unrestrained, blue lightning energy that propels him forward has abandoned him for the time being. Majid catches his heart churning a bit at the sight before he can remember to be bitter.

(Despite what he’s tried to convince the world and himself, Majid’s first reaction has never been anger. It’s been care. The rage came after when that care exploded in his face.)

“Majid,” Roberta says, in a blessed whisper that’s kind to his ears. She sighs her relief and glances over at Fabio quickly. “How are you feeling?”

He scoffs, ignoring the pain in his ribs when it starts a flurry of coughing. “How do you think I feel?”

Robi opens her mouth to speak, but Fabio cuts her off, his voice in something that might be construed as a whisper, if you hadn’t heard someone actually whisper before.

“What the hell was that little show?” Fabio spits out. He begins to pace back and forth, fixing him with a fresh glare each time he passes Majid’s face. “Were you just letting him beat the shit out of you? Are you fucking insane?”

Majid moves to sit up and groans, waving Roberta’s hand away when she goes to get him to lay back down. “No. I just lost, alright? It happens.”

Fabio laughs, cold and clear and terrible. “Right. It happens. You just happen to pick the meanest asshole they’ve got in this lineup to fight, and then you don’t even last a full round.” He stops in front of Majid, eyes like liquid fury. “No. You don’t lose Majid, not unless you have a good reason to.”

Majid doesn’t say a word, doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction. Instead, he turns to Robi beside him and gives her a friendly smile. “I’m fine, really. Just an off night I think.” He hopes Fabio can feel the intent behind his ignoring him. “Why did you come? Have you got a job?”

Her eyes meet back up with her brother’s, something far more dangerous and terrifying than Majid would ever face in a ring. He’s secretly thankful it’s not aimed at him. “Oh, Majid.” She stands and pats his shoulder. “I think you two need to talk. Fabio, drive him home. I’ll get a cab.”

They both open their mouths to argue, but they both are silenced with the way she clears her throat. “I don’t believe I _asked._ Have a safe ride home.” She turns to Majid, eyes shining with something playful and loving behind them. “Feel better, Majid.”

With that, she swings the door to the locker room door open, her heels clicking down the hallway as she disappears. Fabio and Majid don’t speak after she’s gone, but Majid does move to stand, warily. It takes him a couple tries to actually stand, his feet unsteady beneath him, Fabio watches him with hit arms crossed, huffing out his breaths like he’s just run a mile.

Once he’s vertical and certain that he’ll stay that way for the time being, Majid starts the steady crawl toward his locker, blatantly ignoring Fabio’s stare burning a hole in the back of his neck.

“Jesus Christ. Sit back down before you get yourself hurt again, you idiot.” Fabio snaps out, strutting forward and pushing Majid onto the bench. “Sometimes I think you like driving me insane.”

Majid doesn’t say a word.

Fabio knows where his locker is and packs up his gear quickly, after pulling out a zip-up hoodie and a pair of sweats. The bag gets thrown to the floor while Fabio silently helps Majid dress, careful to avoid the forming bruises. It’s while he’s knelt that Majid finally speaks, unable to just sit silently with Fabio’s face so close to his.

“So. What’s the job?”

Fabio startles, looking up at him. “There’s no fucking _job,_ Majid.” He pauses shaking his head. Searching for words and never finding any that are right. “I came because you wouldn’t answer your phone.”

He purses his lips. “Oh.”

“And- and I wanted to apologize.” Majid doesn’t think he’s ever heard Fabio speak so softly.

Majid takes a long, deep breath. Fabio’s hand is resting on his thigh, lingering after he helped him pull up the sweats.

 _Fuck._ He really, really missed him.

“Fine. But can- can you drive me home first?” Majid says, trying not to sound as exhausted as he feels. “I don’t want to do this here.”

Fabio nods, and with a little limping and no minor amount of cursing, manages to load him into his sleek black car- the one he’d bought with the money from the last job. The seats are heated leather and comfortable as hell, and he’s not ashamed to admit that the second they start to head back through the city, Majid’s consciousness fades into the blurring city lights and the sound of Fabio whispering to himself every time another car tries to cut him off.

**********************************************

Fabio is quite proud of the fact that he’s able to remember the way to Majid’s new place. The last time he’d been over, he hadn’t exactly been paying attention. There had been other things on his mind, most of them having to do with no longer having to share walls with anyone they didn’t want overhearing.

He parks on the street and locks his car, giving the kids who watch him from a few houses down a dangerous glare. A car like his in this kind of neighborhood would normally get broken into the second he stepped away, but he’s got some sway here. People recognize him enough not to fuck with him or his stuff.

Majid manages to get up and walk to the door on his own, but he allows Fabio to take his bag. He fishes the keys out and lets the both of them in. Much to Fabio’s surprise, it’s already looking more like a livable space. The windows that had been shattered had been replaced and cleaned, and there was even some semblance of furniture in the form of a ratty brown couch that might have once been red and a coffee table with about thirty years’ worth of stains on the top.

“You’ve been busy.” Fabio remarks dryly.

“Yeah, well. Not much to do aside from get this place together and prep for the fight.”

There’s a part of Fabio that wants to make a snide comment about what good that prep did him, but he bites down on his tongue to keep it from slipping out. It wouldn’t have been received well. Besides, that’s not what he’s here for.

Fabio’s never been good at apologizing.

Majid practically collapses on the couch, chest heaving with the effort to breathe. At some point he’d managed to reopen the cut on his lip, fresh blood beginning to drool down his chin. Fabio abandons the bag he’s carrying to come kneel in front of him, picking up his chin to look over it.

“I don’t suppose you’ve got a first aid kit?”

He gestures vaguely down the small hallway. “Should be one in the bathroom. It’s on your left.”

Seeing that there are only two doors in the hallway, it doesn’t take long for him to find it. The bathroom is small and cramped, and Majid’s already got his stuff spread out across the counter. With a bit of a twinge in his chest, he realizes that it smells like Majid’s body wash. He smacks his lips, annoyed at himself, and crouches to look in the cabinet under the sink. All that’s in there is the little box of medical supplies Majid normally keeps on hand and a small stack of towels. Fabio snags a small one and runs it over the water before looking through the kit, picking out the few things that still seem usable before returning back to the living room and kneeling before Majid again, who watches him with rapt attention.

Fabio dabs the wet washcloth over Majid’s lips, grimacing when he hisses in pain. “Just. Hold still so I can get the ointment on, alright? You’re the _worst_ patient.” He sets the towel down and snatches the small tube he’d stolen from the kit, smearing a healthy amount on his finger. Fabio applies it as lightly as he can, but he still finds himself having to reach a hand out to cradle the back of Majid’s neck to hold him in place.

It’s been too long since he’s kissed him, Fabio thinks as he focuses attention on the pink swell of Majid’s mouth. He hadn’t even realized how much he missed it until he’d caught himself dragging a thumb across his own lips, over and over while he worked.

When Fabio finally finishes, returning the medical supplies to the bathroom and tossing the bloodstained washcloth into the sink, he moves slowly back into the living room and sits quietly on the other end of the couch. Majid looks slightly more awake now, and he’s pulled himself into what is almost a proper sitting position. They share that space and for the briefest of moments, the tension feels coiled tight enough to burn red-hot. Fabio half expects Majid to tell him to get the fuck out. To blow up in his face and tell him to get lost. He’d understand.

Instead, Majid just turns that gaze onto him- too piercing, too endless, too sincere, just _too much._ “Alright. You wanted to apologize.”

There is silence while Fabio searches for the words. In his head he’d planned out what he would say to Majid a million different ways over the phone. What he hadn’t been expecting was Majid getting himself knocked out cold and having to play doctor. His script is tattered and useless.

“I did. I do. _Fuck,-“_ Fabio lets out a breath and shakes his head, squinting his eyes shut to collect himself. His foot is tapping restlessly. “That was a shit move of me, back there. I know that.”

When he doesn’t continue, Majid scoffs. “That’s it? You tell me that I’m just the guy you like to fuck around with, don’t talk to me for a week, and that’s what you’ve got?”

The nervous energy in his legs pulls him onto his feet. “If you would just _listen_ to me, you asshole, I’d get there.” Fabio bites back. “That was wrong. You’re not just a hookup to me. We’ll start there. But you can’t just- _spring_ shit like that.”

“What would you have wanted? A sincere heart to heart where we both talk about our feelings?”

“Yes!”

His head tips back in a snort. “Right. Fabio if I even tried that you’d call me an idiot and tell me to fuck off.”

“It still would have been better than doing it right before you’re about to have my dick in your mouth.” Fabio replies coolly.

Majid pauses. Fabio can hear him shuffle on the couch, old springs creaking. “You’re right. It wasn’t the time.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

They both fall into this pit of awkward nothing, this lack of anything to say or do that Fabio hates more than anything. Like they’ve somehow come upon the end, standing at the precipice.

“What now?” Fabio asks, breaking the silence.

Majid shrugs. “I don’t know. What do you want, Fabio?” He sounds tired. It’s understandable, given the circumstances, but Fabio can’t help feeling like he’s to blame. “I can give you your space, or whatever. If that’s what you need right now.”

He closes the gap between the two of them in a few short strides, only just barely managing to avoid hitting his foot on the coffee table. “I want you.”

Majid smiles. Fabio thinks he could fucking _dance_ to see that smile again. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Yes,” He sinks back down and curls their hands together on his lap. “I want you, and I want to live in this shitty fucking house and drink your terrible coffee so I can tell you how bad it is. Just maybe give me a little forewarning before you propose?”

“What makes you think I’m going to propose?”

He’s got that shit eating grin on his face, the one that tells Fabio he’s trying to get a rise out of him. Instead of playing his game, Fabio leans in and connects their lips as softly as he can. Majid tastes like the ointment, and blood, and by god it shouldn’t be as good as it is. None of this feels like it’s meant to work- the house, or their lives, or _them._ But piece by bloody, jagged jigsaw piece, it does.

Fabio is the first to pull away, smiling wildly. “Whatever. You should rest, you look like you’re halfway to passing out. Please tell me you’ve got more than this ratty thing to sleep on.” He kicks the side of the couch for emphasis.

Majid nods and attempts to stand, but he winces in the process. “Yeah, just. Give me a hand?”

Together, with Majid leaning heavily against Fabio’s side, they make their way down the hall. The bedroom is currently just a mattress on the floor and a closet that’s got a few days’ worth of clothes strewn inside, a few blankets bunched up off to the side. Majid lowers himself down and lands with a dull thud, stretching slightly. Fabio takes one of the blankets and shakes it out, and in a move so disgustingly domestic he wants to laugh, spreads it out over him until Fabio’s satisfied that he’ll be comfortable.

It’s seconds before Majid starts to drift off. Fabio can’t help but watch him for a bit, trying to ignore the sirens going off in his head telling him to run for the hills and never look back. Instead, he tries to think about the present. Should he go get food? That was a thing that couples did, right? Dinner in bed?

He sighs and laughs to himself, running his fingers through his hair. What the fuck was he on? One minute the very idea of sharing a house with Majid made him want to take off running across town, the next he’s coming up with a dinner menu. He can already picture Roberta’s smug, I-told-you-so face.

Strangely enough, he didn’t think he’d mind it too much this time around.

He tries to step as quietly as he can towards the door, trying not to disturb Majid. This is to limited success, because as soon as he’s made it a few feet the other man groans and turns toward him, eyes open but drowsy.

“Can you stay?” Majid says quietly. “Please?”

The words feel fragile in a way Fabio wasn’t expecting. “I’m not sleeping in jeans.”

“Steal some sweats. Just don’t go.”

And, fuck. Fabio’s certainly not going to turn him down when he sounds like that and is being given the free opportunity to steal Majid’s clothes. He strips quickly, finding a pair of loose-fitting sweats to tug on. It’s warm enough that he leaves his shirt off, which is only met by Majid raising an eyebrow. Slotting in beside him feels natural, feels _good._

It’s not until after he’s already wrapped in the blankets and he’s got Majid’s arm flung over his chest that he realizes that this is their first time truly sleeping together. They’d both passed out in the same bed after a good fuck, but they’d never just… laid down next to one another to sleep.

If Fabio goes any softer he’s going to be jelly.

He waits till Majid has slipped into a tenuous sleep, breathing still labored by the bruises forming on his chest, before laying a kiss to the crown of his head. In a voice so small that Fabio can barely hear himself talk, he whispers something quietly into the room. It’s not something he’s ready for Majid to hear while he’s still awake, or for Fabio to admit in the daylight just yet. But for now, for this tiny little bedroom in this- in _his-_ shitty little house, it feels right.

**Author's Note:**

> and there you go!! this was a joy to write, and to my lovely giftee, i hope you had a wonderful holiday!!!  
> there will be a part two to this eventually, where fabio and majid finally get to christen the new house properly.
> 
> as always, kudos/comments are appreciated!!


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